


Pull Back The Curtain

by slrandomperson



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, bands - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bandom - Freeform, Canon, Canon Compliant, Fluff, I hope this is good lol, I'm not really sure what i'm doing, Kind of AU but not really?, Long Shot, M/M, No Smut, One Shot, Time Travel, mentioned sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slrandomperson/pseuds/slrandomperson
Summary: Kind of AU but not really;One-shot but LONG;⋰⋰⋰Pete Wentz fucked up. He just wanted Patrick, but it was too late. So he decides to go back to the moment it all began. Once the situation is explained to 2005 Pete, he is tasked with making sure his happiness is achieved in the future. That means accepting his newfound infatuation for Patrick.⋰⋰⋰





	Pull Back The Curtain

**2018**  
Pete wasn't sure when he had taken a wrong turn. Maybe it was dating Meagan. Maybe it was meeting her at all. Maybe it was marrying Ashlee, or maybe it was allowing Patrick to meet Elisa, or maybe it was splitting up Fall Out Boy for those long few years. Pete had no idea. But he figured that if anyone would know, it would be him. Well, not him now, obviously. He had no clue. Him in the moment everything happened.

_"Pete, we can't," Patrick had whispered against his skin when Pete had him pinned on the wall._

_Pete was panting and his lips were sore from kissing so violently. His hands were fumbling with the zipper on Patrick's jeans, but the singer pushed him away. "Patrick, I...Please. We both, I, we—"_

_"Pete." Patrick bit his lip nervously. He looked like he was about to cry. "I'm married. You have a girlfriend, I have kids, and it's too late now. We could have, it would have been different if you had just—"_

_"I'm going to fix this." Pete stepped away, taking Patrick's hand. "I'm going to make everything better, I promise."_

_Patrick frowned. "You can't. That's not how it works."_

_"I love you, Patrick. I'll make it work."_

_Without waiting for a response, Pete ran on the stage to greet the screaming crowd at Wrigley Field._

Knocking on the door, Pete found that no one was in the bathroom. Of course it was empty; Meagan was at the grocery store and she was the only other person living in that house. Pete always wanted kids, but he just never got around to it. He almost had a kid with Meagan, but she had a miscarriage after eleven weeks. It was absolutely heartbreaking.

Pete stood in front of the shower curtain, taking as deep and long of a breath as he could. He reached his hand out and twisted his wrist, watching the colors around him bleed into the curtain and spiral to the center. Feeling a little dizzy, Pete squeezed his eyes shut and waited until his headache miraculously disappeared. Upon opening his eyes, Pete found that the world around him was gone, all except for the shower. The curtain was swirling with every color imaginable and many more, but he pulled it back and stepped into the bathtub on the other side. After closing it once more and waiting about three minutes, he stepped out of the tub again. Upon opening the curtain, he was nearly blinded by the white of the bathroom tiles.

Pete looked around. It appeared to be a hotel bathroom, judging by the lack of personal items. He recognized it immediately as the bathroom where he popped five Ativan and wrote "One night and one more time; thanks for the memories, even though they weren't so great," on a notepad after some particularly bad sex. Sure enough, The Guesthouse Hotel's services rang true, as the notepad with an eye-catching logo slapped on the bottom was laying on the sink, messy handwriting scribbled across the first page. Pete remembered that Patrick had given this to him after Pete set his on fire from frustration. That must have all happened that morning.

Picking up the notepad, Pete examined it to try and see if he could remember where they were playing that day. Was this in Chicago? That must be Metro or something, then. Fall Out Boy had never played Wrigley before that depressing night; that took fifteen years and more than half a dozen hit singles to happen.

The first page fell off, fluttering to the ground. Pete scooped it up from the floor, but when he went to stick it back on, he noticed another note written in different, neater handwriting on the second page.

_Stop setting things on fire. Love, Patrick._

Pete stared at it for a while, not remembering ever receiving this note. He must not have seen it way back in 2005.  _Love, Patrick_. Wow.

He cautiously pushed the door open, stepping out into an unfamiliar hotel room. Pete tended to recognize bathrooms more, since that's where he had spent most of his time taking drugs and crying and punching stuff back in the day. He came face to face with a terrified but mirror image of himself, if he still wore eyeliner and had a bad fashion sense (fine, worse than the present day).

"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my room?" 2005 Pete asked, backing against the wall.  _I'm a lonelier version of you, I just don't know where I went wrong._

"Pete, calm down."

"No! Who the fuck are you, why do you look like me, and how did you get into the bathroom?"

Older Pete put his hands up. "Listen, man, I'll explain, okay? Just calm the fuck down."

"You're lucky I'd rather die than call security. Or do anything at all."

⋰⋰⋰

 **2005**  
"Wait, okay, let me get this straight," Pete said, pacing in front of himself from thirteen years later. "You're from the future? And you're me?"

Older Pete rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Young Pete thought for a moment. "So I'm hot in the future?"

"You're hot now," Older Pete said automatically.

Young Pete snorted. "You sound like Patrick."

"Yeah, you're like him in the future. Meaning you're a bit of a pussy."

Young Pete's eyes went wide. "Did I go soft? Fuck, did I fucking settle?" He gasped. "Do I have kids?"

"Oh my—Can you shut up? You do get married, but no kids. You, I mean, I want kids, though."

"I'm  _married_?" Young Pete groaned. "Gross!"

Flopping back on the bed, Older Pete sighed. "Jessica Simpson's sister, you idiot. You marry Jessica Simpson's sister. And you end up loving kids."

"I'm married to Ashlee Simpson?"

"Well, no. Divorce after three years."

Young Pete frowned for a few moments. "Was the sex at least good?"

"Fuck yeah." Older Pete sat up again. "But that's why I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

Older Pete stood, placing his hands on his counterpart's shoulders. "You can't marry her."

"Um, okay, why not?"

"It's...It's hard to explain. I'm not sure if you'll like it." Older Pete bit his lip nervously.

Defiantly, the emo kid jutted out his chin and tried to look as intimidating as possible. "Enlighten me."

Sighing, Pete from 2018 flicked a lock of hair from his eyes. "You won't believe me."

"Try." Young Pete watched his older version's throat intensely. He could actually see the words forming and bubbling up and then disintegrating over and over again. It was annoying. "Spit it out!"

"I'm in love with a guy!"

The silence that followed Pete's outburst of entirely new information rang in the younger boy's ears. He shook his head, laughing to fill the tense silence after at least a full minute.

"No, no way. You came back all this way just to fuck with me? I don't know if you think this is funny or—"

"I'm fucking serious." Older Pete's expression had gone from mildly annoyed to distressed in the span of two seconds. It was almost as if someone had taken the weight off his shoulders and then swung it around to whack him in the side of the head. "I'm unhappy. I want him so bad but I fucked up and now it'll never happen."

Young Pete sat down in shock. "Wait, you're serious." The other version of himself nodded. "I...I'm in love with a guy? But I'm not—"

"You are."

"But—"

"But nothing," Older Pete cut him off. "That's all there is to it. You fall for him on this tour and then you think it's just a crush and you'll get over it, but as the years pass it just gets worse and worse and letting it fester inside of you makes your heart want to explode and then you try to—" He stopped. "You can't let him out of your sight. Ever. Don't have any more one night stands, don't fucking get a girlfriend, don't let him go, okay? It just gets harder. Trust me."

Young Pete just sat on his bed, motionless. He couldn't understand what was happening. His future self, a man from the motherfucking  _future_ , just barged into his room and threw his new sexuality and apparent crush at him. "Who is he?"

"I'm not gonna' tell you."

"Then how am I supposed to know who to never let out of my sight?"

Older Pete stared at him blankly for a second. "If I tell you, it won't be the same. But I promise, it'll be pretty fucking obvious eventually."

"Wait, so, am I gay, then?"

"We don't like labels. You like what you like, and that just kind of happens to be—"

"A dude." Pete was having difficulty imagining it. Some guy, maybe one of the boys in the  _band_  (gross), being crushed on and possibly stalked by an awkward emo weirdo.

Older Pete stood. "I have to go. Just, think about it, okay? Think about your future. You wanna' be happy? Remember him."

⋰⋰⋰

That night, Pete shot Patrick a quick text telling the kid to come to his hotel room. He was going to make sure that it wasn't him. He couldn't bear to lose his best friend over some stupid crush. Yeah, he had smacked playful kisses on Patrick's neck and cheeks and shit while they were on stage, but there wasn't any meaning, right? At least, he didn't think so. But, then again, that's what he had thought about that Urie kid's fondness for Ross. He was wrong about that.

Pete's insides twisted around when he heard a knock on the door. "Coming!" he called when he realized he should probably put a shirt on. Wiggling into a  _Dirty Money_ shirt he found on the ground, he swung the door open. Patrick looked happy to see him, considering he wrapped Pete in a tight hug before coming in.

"Man, I was so worried about you. I didn't know if you had, like, died or something, and—" He paused, staring at Pete's shirt. "Is that your shirt?"

"Uh..." Pete looked down, realizing that this was, in fact, not his own shirt. "It's Ryan's."

"Why is Ryan's shirt in your hotel room?"

Pete raised an eyebrow. "He probably loaned it to me and I just brought it on tour."

Patrick laughed. "You're such an idiot."

Snapping his fingers, Pete remembered why he had invited Patrick there. Well, at least, the secondary reason. "I wrote something down." He went into the bathroom and Patrick sat on the bed. When Pete looked at the notepad, however, he noticed that the first page was a little askew. It had been pulled off and stuck back on. He lifted the page to find a note from Patrick that he hadn't seen before.

His eyes shouldn't have lingered on the word 'Love.'

His heart shouldn't have fluttered.

His lips shouldn't have curled into a soft smile.

He made a little choking noise as he forced himself to stop smiling like an idiot and go show Patrick the words he scribbled out so carelessly. But when he stepped into the bedroom and Patrick was there, waiting so expectantly with big, round eyes, Pete couldn't help but smirk. "'Love, Patrick,'" he recited. "Cute."

"Shut up," Patrick said, blushing.

Pete sat beside his friend, making them lean into each other as the bed dipped. He handed the slip of paper over and Patrick pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose to read it. He hummed a little tune as he scanned the page over and over and over again and Pete was just watching his lips and eyes move as he silently mouthed the words.

"This is good, this is good. It's a chorus, definitely, but I think you knew that."

"Yeah, I have a general idea of what the whole thing is gonna' be about, so I'll see how that goes," Pete agreed.

Patrick bumped his shoulder and smiled a little. "Hey, so, it's two days before Christmas, and Joe, Andy and I were thinking we'd go to Brendon Urie's Christmas party. Their record got released a week or two ago and they're already popular enough to have huge parties."

Pete laughed a little. "Yeah, I don't know, I..." He sniffed. "I was kind of just hoping to hang out with the four of us, you know?"

"Really? I'm not usually one for parties, but I'm making an exception. You might never get the chance to see me make a fool of myself at a party again," Patrick said in a sing-song voice.

Rolling his eyes, Pete picked at his fingernails. "You really want me to go?"

He expected Patrick to laugh and playfully tell him that there will be girls there or punch him in the arm or something. Instead, he cleared his throat and coughed a little, saying "Yeah, I really do," in a low voice.

Pete's face was blank as he tried to decipher Patrick's tone. "Oh. Well, okay then. I'll go if you want me to."

"Cool. Party's tomorrow, er, I guess today." His usual smile was back as he stared at the clock that read 12:46. Pete followed his gaze and hummed a little; it was earlier than he thought.

When Patrick stood to leave, Pete grabbed his arm without thinking. "Hey, do...Do you wanna' just stay here tonight? It's late."

"My room is right next door."

"Well, I know that. I was just...Wondering." Pete tried not to bite his lip as he slowly lowered his arm, letting Patrick's slip out of his grip.

Patrick smiled. "I'll be fine." Pete watched him leave with what he hoped was a neutral expression because Patrick looked back before closing the door, but he knew his own face too well. He didn't need to look in the mirror to know that he looked desolate behind the eyes. As soon as Patrick was gone, he twisted his mouth into somewhat of a frown and lowered his gaze to the ground.

_But I won't._

There was no way his older self could have been talking about Patrick. It was just a stupid little crush, and there was nothing more to it. Besides, he wasn't gay, never felt that way about a guy before, so it's not like it would develop any farther. Patrick was straight and he wasn't a flirt, either, so nothing could happen.

Pete went to sleep at four that night, thinking about how ridiculous the idea that he'd ever be in love with Patrick is. He wasn't even sure the band would last that long! Besides, there was no way this could even count as a crush. The thought had just been planted into his mind by his older self. Pete was positive that he would feel the way he did toward Patrick around every guy he saw from that point onward, since he was just paranoid.

Just give him a few months. He'd be over it soon.

⋰⋰⋰

 **2007**  
Pete layed awake until three or four, just as he had been doing every night during the Honda Civic Tour. He neither know nor cared which city they were in this time; all he knew was that he was on a bus and he missed hotel nights. His little flip phone blinked Ryan's name.

_Dude u remember this? Haha_

Attached to the text was a photo. Pete opened it with the tiny little buttons above the keyboard. It was a picture from a few years ago, probably 2005, at Brendon's Christmas party. Pete's stomach bubbled with something that felt like it could be puke as he stared at the photo. Pete's arm was around a passed out Patrick, whose face was nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Even as he slept, Patrick wore an adorably soft smile. Pete was glaring and flipping off the camera as someone out of the shot (probably Brendon) was holding mistletoe over the boys' heads.

 _Fuck u_  is all that Pete said in reply. It's not like Ryan knew, but then again, Pete wasn't sure what there was for him to know. He had convinced himself for the first eight months that it wasn't Patrick, there was no way that it was him, he just loved making the kid blush, but now it had been a year and a half and Pete hated himself more than ever for it.

 _Give me a few months_ , he had thought,  _and I'll just get over it_. But no, the Universe really had it out for him. He sometimes wondered if his future self hadn't gone back, would he have ever fallen for Patrick? The answer wasn't entirely clear until Pete really sat and dedicated an hour to thinking about it (but he was pretty sure about it when he started jerking off to the thought of Patrick; he had a singer's throat, how amazing would that be?). He eventually came to the conclusion that being hopelessly and irrevocably in love with someone wasn't exactly something you could avoid. Pete had fallen in one day. He'd like to see Patrick beat that.

During the show the night after, Pete screamed The Carpal Tunnel Of Love as violently as he could and kissed Patrick on the neck three times.  _Three_. He had never done it that much, but Ryan being a dick had sparked something inside of him that was animalistic and hungry and needed something,  _anything_.

When they were herded back onto the bus, Pete got to thinking about what his future self had said. He made it sound like Pete could easily get Patrick to fall for him, but when you hated yourself as much as Pete did, it was difficult to see why. Future Pete had come back once to tell him what party to not go to so he would never meet Ashlee, and that party had been last month. Pete wondered what would have happened if he had just gone and was able to convince himself that he was over Patrick. But that was probably what Future Pete had done, and he was paying for it.

Pete wanted it to be easy. He was in love, had fallen hard a while ago, and love was painful. It kept him awake and caused him physical pain and many nights spent popping pills. But then there was that one night on the roof of the hotel when Patrick had talked him down and they were both crying and Pete's eyeliner was running and Patrick had laughed a little and wiped it away to lighten the mood but only succeeded in making them both cry more. He remembered how much be wanted to kiss Patrick right then. He constantly wondered if Patrick would have let him.

"Pete, are you okay?" Patrick asked when everyone else had gone to sleep. Pete was surprised as he torpidly climbed down from his bunk in the dark to sit by Patrick. He wasn't usually up this late.

"Yeah. Why?"

Patrick chuckled nervously. "Well, I don't know, just...You know, I wanted to make sure."

"Thanks."

They sat in silence for a little bit when Patrick cleared his throat. "I was just asking because you seemed really upset tonight."

"How so?" Pete wanted to hear him say it.

A small blush arose on Patrick's cheeks. "You, you were just, you know..." His hand absentmindedly grazed the part of his skin that Pete always attacked on stage. He had figured out by then that Patrick was sensitive there. It was a good thing to know.

"What?" He was going to make him say it. "What did I do, 'Trick?"

"You know," Patrick said flatly.

The only light in the room was graciously provided by the moon, but as it disappeared behind the clouds the darkness seemed to consume them. Pete gave up. "I'm sorry, okay? I just—"

"Pete, it's fine, you don't have to explain. You do that sometimes, I get it. If you're upset with me or something you can tell me."

"I'm not. Why would I kiss you if I was upset?"

Patrick winced at the word. "Could you not—"

"Could I not what? Say the K word? I'm sorry, I meant lick you in the fucking neck. My bad." Silence followed for a brief moment, but Pete didn't really regret snapping.

"Pete." He waited for something after that, but Patrick just said it again. "Pete."

"What?"

Moonlight swept the room again, and Pete saw the shine of a single tear roll down Patrick's cheek. "Stop."

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad, I'm sorry. I'm...I'm sorry." Pete held the sides of Patrick's face as he wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

"I'm," Patrick began shakily, "I'm not mad, okay? I just hate seeing you like this and I feel like I can't do anything about it." The tears stopped, the crying having been short lived, but Pete didn't drop his hands. He wasn't going to lean in, though. Now wasn't the time. Instead, he opted for the less risky and less personal option.

A tiny gasp escaped Patrick's lips as Pete went in for that spot on his neck again. "Pete—" he sputtered out, but cut himself off. Pete sucked at the skin of Patrick's neck, pulling it between his lips and nipping at it a bit, making sure to bite hard enough that a hickey would form. Patrick gave up fighting, not that he really was to begin with, and just rolled his head to the side, giving Pete more room and closing his eyes. They had never done this off stage.

"Patrick," Pete whispered against his neck. His exhale came in a bit of a pant, but he had to control himself. Then Patrick's hand was in his hair, and Pete buried his head in his friend's shoulder.

"Sh, it's okay. You're okay." Pete was surprised that he wasn't even weirded out. Maybe he was just used to this. Fuck, he was used to Pete moping and doing dumb shit. He was also a total fucking pushover. This meant nothing to him. Fuck.

Pete climbed back into his bunk with no audible protest from Patrick. He didn't really get to sleep until five that night, only dreaming of his lips on Patrick's neck.

He was completely fucked.

⋰⋰⋰

Patrick pulled away every time. That was just what he did; it wasn't necessarily intentional, his natural reaction to Pete trying to kiss him was just to pull away (at least, that's what Pete thought). But tonight, something was off. Patrick's eyes were glazed over as he sang and played his guitar on autopilot. Pete didn't try to kiss him.

The set was coming to a close and Andy was in the middle of his drum solo before Grenade Jumper when Patrick crossed the stage to stand by Pete. Patrick wrapped his arms around him for seemingly no reason, and Pete's head was resting on his shoulder, facing away from the audience. People started cheering, but Pete was way too tired and he slumped into Patrick and let his arms drop to his sides. He inhaled so deeply that he felt like he could smell every bead of Patrick's sweat and every fiber of his very being and his shampoo was fresh and flowery and fuck he was so in love. He was so fucked that he might as well have been pregnant.

Pete timidly brought his arms around Patrick's waist, just wanting to cry and sleep next to him and dream about him. He had been dreaming about Patrick a lot lately. Pete had a very vivid imagination.

Then a rush of cold air hit him when Patrick was gone. Pete automatically started reaching out in front of him like a newborn that'd been set down for the first time, but then the song was starting and he fumbled for the right fingering on his bass and just barely made it back to his place on the stage before the song began.

Pete was staring at the ceiling (hotel night!) when he heard a knock at the door. Sluggishly sliding out of the bed, Pete rubbed his eyes at the sight of Patrick standing in the hall. "Dude, it's two in the morning, what are you—" Patrick shoved past him and paced back and forth across the floor, arms crossed angrily.

"Listen, I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, but I need you to know that I'm not just gonna' let it go, okay? What's happening?"

Pete just blinked at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Pete. I know you. Something's wrong. Tonight, you didn't even—" Patrick stopped himself, hand flying up to his neck sheepishly. "Something's wrong," he repeated.

Pete sighed. "I'm just having an off day."

"No, you're not. Something's been wrong for the past year, and I've been too scared to bring it up, but I'm just so done and now this is me bringing it up." Patrick's eyes were wide and bright and full of sadness. "Tell me what's wrong."

Lowering his gaze, Pete stepped closer. Patrick tapped his foot expectantly. "Patrick," Pete mumbled softly.

"I'm listening."

Pete barely glanced at Patrick's eyes before smacking sloppy kisses up and down his neck. Patrick's hand curled into a fist in Pete's hair as he swallowed nervously. Pete pulled him closer by the waist, leaving trails of spit on Patrick's collarbone. He bit down, adding a second mark to the collection on Patrick's neck (concealer worked wonders). It felt good to kiss him again.

Then Patrick moaned.

It was so soft that it didn't imply anything more than contentment, but Pete pulled back, wiping his mouth, and he almost smiled because he thought it meant Patrick might feel it the way he did, but then Patrick was rubbing his neck and fixing the hair Pete had messed up. Natural reactions were going to be the death of Pete Wentz. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong now?"

Pete stared at him incredulously. He was just going to act like that didn't happen? Fine. See if Pete cared. "I've been off my meds," he lied, not wanting to blurt out 'I'm in love with you' after that whole scene. Talk about embarrassing.

"What? Pete, you can't—"

"I know, I know. I've been back on them just recently, which is why I'm even more messed up than usual. I'll get better soon; I promise." The way that Patrick looked at him made his heart sink. Pete just wanted his approval, but Patrick looked more disappointed than he ever had.

"Okay. Well, I'm glad you've gotten the sense to go back on 'em. I guess, um, goodnight. I guess."

Pete stared at his best friend. "Sleep here."

"Pete, I—"

"Sleep here," Pete insisted.

Patrick blinked. "Okay."

Relief washed over the older man. He didn't want to be alone. More importantly, he would be with Patrick. Did he mention that he was in love?

Pete decided right then and there that he was going to try to make Patrick fall for him. Kiss him. Anything. He just wanted to be happy in the future, and if being with Patrick would accomplish that, then he'd do it. Or he just really wanted to be with Patrick. It was probably the latter.

⋰⋰⋰

Patrick's eyes fluttered open. His breath hitched as his hand grazed the new hickey that had formed on his neck. Fucking Pete Wentz and his fucking insanity. One of these days, Pete was just going to break like a beanbag, rice and filling spilling everywhere. Words flying out too fast.

It's not that Patrick hated the kisses, he was just concerned. They never did that off stage, and he was afraid that Pete was falling into such a depression that he didn't know what was an act and what was real anymore.

Once Pete finally woke up, they sat on the bed together, just enjoying each other's company. "You've got a hickey."

"Whose fault do you think that is?" Patrick shot back without hesitation.

Pete reached over and trailed his fingers along the bruise, forcing Patrick to bite his lip to not make a sound. "I gave you a hickey," Pete whispered, grinning.

"Oh my God, Pete, you're so..." Patrick trailed off, not able to find a good insult.

"What am I?" Pete asked, raising his eyebrows and lowering his voice significantly. He was leaning in quite close and Patrick couldn't look away from his dark eyes.

Pete was a lot of things; he was obnoxious and loud and could be kind of an idiot sometimes, and Pete was way too small for his big presence and everything about him that wasn't physical was just big and his personality could fill a whole room, and he wore eyeliner and couldn't cook for shit and had a terrible fashion sense and sucked at singing, and Pete knew just how to hit home with his long words and relatable experiences and he knew all these random facts off the top of his head and screamed like a fucking God and he looked surprisingly hot when he had no shirt on and he was nothing like Patrick.

Pete was a lot of things, but mostly, Pete was just perfect.

Patrick was about to answer, but it was a bit of a shock when he realized—oh, wait, hey—that Pete was flirting with him. And then his tongue was all tied up and his stomach struggled to undo the knots, only making it worse.

"Um, you're," he breathed, staring down at Pete's half-lidded eyes. "You're."

"Articulate, nice," Pete mocked, sitting up. "I'm gonna' go grab some coffee. See ya' tonight."

Patrick watched him leave the door open on his way out, and he poked his head out into the hallway to stare after Pete and his long, dark hair disappearing around the corner.

_You're really beautiful._

⋰⋰⋰

Patrick was terrified as he stood in front of the mic, trying to get through Thriller without throwing up. It was the first fucking song of the set and he was a mess. But during Me & You, as Patrick was singing, "Two out of three ain't bad," he saw Pete cross the stage to stand next to him, and as he belted out "Ain't bad" once again, Pete pressed a wet, sloppy kiss to his cheek. For the first time in either a while or ever, Patrick didn't bother moving away. The only reason he ever moved away was because he had to turn from the mic so he wouldn't moan right into it. Now, Pete was neglecting his sensitive spot, so he didn't have to worry about gasping like a blushing virgin (which he kind of was).

The bus was silent except for the rumble of the street passing below when Patrick worked up the courage to talk to Pete. He pulled back the curtain of the bunk above his a bit, only to find that Pete wasn't there. Patrick's heart almost stopped. Did they leave Pete somewhere? Had he been kidnapped? Was he—

"Patrick," a voice whispered harshly. The singer turned to see Pete sitting on the couch out in the main part of the bus. "Are you looking for me?"

Making his way toward the couch and having to step over stacks of paper in the process, Patrick found himself becoming nervous. This had never happened before. His palms were clammy and his breathing was shallow and he couldn't look Pete in the eyes.

"Hey, is everything alright?" he asked when Patrick sat on his legs next to him.

"I'm okay, I just...I keep thinking."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "About?"

"Everything." Patrick stared at his hands in his lap. Pete was staring, too.

"And what do you think about everything?"

Patrick took a deep breath. "Everything's shitty."

Frowning, Pete timidly rested his own hand on top of Patrick's to get him to stop fidgeting. "Don't say that. Why? What happened?"

"I want to quit the band," Patrick said, trying to get rid of the tension he felt and gauge Pete's reaction. He wasn't serious, obviously. This band was the best thing to ever happen to him. But he wanted to see what Pete would do.

His eyes went wider than ever before, and Patrick felt Pete's hand tighten around both of his own. "Okay. I'll quit too, then. We can quit. We, uh, we have enough money to—"

"Whoa, oh my God, no. I'm kidding. Stop." Pete froze. "I'm sorry. I wanted to see what you would say."

"Asshole," Pete spat, gaze turning sour.

"I'm sorry. I just...You would seriously quit? For me?"

Not a moment of hesitation. "I would do anything for you." Patrick's heart fluttered. It wasn't supposed to do that. "The only reason I ever do anything is for you."

"Pete..." Patrick reached up and moved Pete's hair out of his eyes, smiling a bit at the black eyeliner that brought out their dark color. "You don't have to."

"Believe me, it's not something I consciously want." Laughing a bit, Patrick let his hand drop. As Pete finally looked away, he stood, yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "I'm gonna' go to bed. You coming?"

Pete was holding out his hand and Patrick shyly took it. He didn't let go as Pete led them back to the bunks.

"This is where we part," the older man said dramatically, smiling a little.

"Yeah." Patrick didn't mean to sound so sad, but he did.

Pete frowned. "Hey, no, I'm right here. I'll be right above you, 'Trick."

"I know. That's the issue." At Pete's confused expression, Patrick sniffed. "I don't want you to be anywhere but next to me."

A few seconds of silence, then Pete slowly began to smile. "Okay." He climbed into Patrick's bunk, squeezing against the wall to make room. Patrick took a little bit to psych himself up for some sleep before laying down next to him.

"Goodnight, Pete."

"'Night, my little cabbage." Patrick grinned, glad that Pete couldn't see him in the dark. He suddenly realized his alarming urge to kiss Pete.

Well, that wasn't good.

⋰⋰⋰

Patrick was sweating and writhing and trying not to scream. He tried to hold back, he really did, but the way it felt was just so raw and animalistic and good and it was difficult to keep an orgasm down when Pete Wentz was blowing you, so he came hard and Pete swallowed and then Patrick woke up.

He looked over and Pete was staring at him, wide awake on the bed. Patrick wanted to die, he wanted to drink dishwashing fluid or receive a prescription for laundry detergent or rip his own eyeballs out or peel off his skin. That dream was reckless. In the world they lived in, being happy was reckless.

"Patrick."

"Hi," he responded dryly.

"Why did you just say my name?"

Patrick's pulse was missing. He wanted to go find it, but he was positive that Pete would ask where he was going and then he would die as soon as he stood up. Praying that he didn't moan or anything, Patrick decided to make something up. "They killed you. They murdered you. Pete, I..."

"Sh, it's okay, it was just a dream," Pete promised, pulling Patrick against his chest and hugging him tightly, and Patrick was happy because his lie had gotten him the best possible outcome. Fuck yeah.

"Pete, I don't want to lose you," Patrick blurted out, and he told himself it was just to solidify his act.

He listened to Pete inhaling behind him and pretended that it was because he was smelling his shampoo. "You won't. I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever," he promised, tangling a hand in Patrick's hair.

They layed like that for a while, Patrick's mind buzzing and eyes widening as he realized the reality of what lengths his mind had just gone to so it could betray him. He just imagined that he was fucking Pete Wentz's mouth. And he enjoyed it.

Now Pete was flush against his body and Patrick couldn't think straight. All he could think about was  _Pete's hands are in my hair and he's right there and I could totally just kiss him right now_. Except he didn't, because that would make him very very happy, and happy was reckless.

"I should take a shower," Pete whispered in Patrick's ear, maybe accidentally but possibly purposefully letting his lips graze the shell of Patrick's ear. Patrick tried not to imagine him undressing and standing under the stream of hot water, droplets rolling down his back and flat stomach and then down down down to...

He couldn't tell what this new feeling was. It was different with Pete than with a girl; he didn't feel stupid or terrified. Just infatuated. Obsessed.

So of course it made sense that he was distracted at the show. When Pete came up and fucking made out with his neck, Patrick so nearly stumbled over his words, but he managed to get through it with the only telltale sign being a shaky breath exhaled into the mic. Pete's tongue flicked Patrick's jaw before he finally moved away. Fuck him.

Patrick was dreaming a lot about Pete. Most of it was incredibly sexual, things that Patrick wasn't even aware he knew about, and he could almost feel Pete inside of him and he didn't like where this train of thought was going so he caught another one.

It was a few shows later before Pete tried to kiss him again. They hadn't talked about it or anything, but Patrick was pretty sure that Pete knew he was upset about being distracted during that other show. It was just after Pete's part in I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy (and really, was there any question as to who the title was referring to? Speaking of, when was the last time Pete had...never mind) when Patrick began singing and Pete was up next to him. Patrick felt the nerves prickle on his skin like he never had before, and it certainly didn't help that Pete was just breathing against him and the air was so incredibly hot that Patrick couldn't bring himself to move until he felt wet lips press into him, and even then, he wasn't fast enough.

"Dude, are you alright?" Pete asked on the bus that night. Patrick had decided to stay behind when Pete turned down the other guys' offers for dinner. It was just them on the bus.

"Yeah. Why?"

He shrugged. "You're just, you know, a little slow lately."

Patrick frowned. "What, you want me to shove you and say 'Fuck off'? Because I will."

"No no no, I just mean..." Pete was biting his lip again and Patrick knew what that meant. He sighed and rolled his head to the side as Pete attacked him again. Patrick's eyes went wide, however, as Pete grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, pressing their bodies together so tightly that Patrick could feel Pete through his skinny black jeans. He gasped as Pete thrusted against him, kissing him harder than ever.

"P-Pete, Pete, stop," Patrick begged, pushing his best friend away a little bit.

Pete's lips were red and wet and his pupils were blown when he looked at Patrick. "Why?"

"Because you're gonna' give me a fucking heart attack. Do you not have boundaries?"

"Not really, no."

Patrick stared at him a few seconds before laughing. "Wow, okay. Um, do you...You might wanna' get rid of that boner before the guys come back."

Pete frowned. "I would be getting rid of it if you didn't stop me."

"Wait, Pete, you know I don't...Pete."

By the way Pete was staring at him with wide eyes, Patrick figured out that Pete did not, in fact, know what he meant.

"I'm not gonna' lose my virginity to my best friend, you fucking freak," Patrick snapped, shoving past Pete to the bunks. No way. He was not going to let Pete use him for sex. No way.

⋰⋰⋰

The next day was a driving day, which meant no show and no hotel, and ultimately that Pete was stuck on a bus all day with Patrick. Pete tried not to make it too obvious that he was avoiding him, but Andy picked up on it almost immediately. Patrick was in the bunks when Andy sat down on the couch next to Pete, crossing his arms and staring at him blankly.

"I'm not sure what's going on, but you and Patrick have been really weird lately, and I won't ask because I don't want to get involved, but fucking fix it because it's weird and Joe and I hate it." And that was that.

Then a week went by and neither of them had said a word to each other. Pete's heart was aching, all he wanted to do was apologize and maybe not kiss him this time but he knew himself too well to pretend that he wouldn't kiss Patrick. He wondered how his future self had managed to make it through thirteen years without this. Who knows, maybe he didn't.

But it's not like Pete stopped observing, either. Patrick talked in his sleep and that was usually a pretty good way for Pete to figure out where he stood. Patrick was having a lot of dreams lately, and he always woke up sweating and mumbling something along the lines of "Shit shit shit" and there were a few times that Pete could swear he heard his name, and that either meant something incredibly sexy or incredibly terrifying.

Pete kept thinking about that one night. He had thought that Patrick was submissive and horny enough to fuck right then and there, and that the line between sex and friendship was defined, but it appeared that the line was way too defined as Patrick just turned him down without a second thought. Maybe it was for the best; Pete was too in love to not make it painfully obvious if they were going to fuck.

But then recently, Patrick stopped sleeping. Pete just couldn't fall asleep knowing that they were both awake and it was just them and he wanted to go down there. So instead, every night, he'd just let exhaustion overtake him and he would pass out instead of sleep. Every time he woke in the morning, Patrick was still in bed, meaning that he was waiting until Pete drifted off in order to do so himself.

Pete was thinking about all of this when he heard a small voice. "Pete." At first he thought it was just Patrick dreaming again but he didn't sleep while Pete was awake, and it sounded way too consciously annoyed to be a dream.

"Patrick?" They hadn't spoken to each other in a week, and their voices sounded raw. A week without talking to each other was a week without talking at all, aside from singing and screaming of course, which just made it worse.

He heard movement, which meant Patrick was now standing. Pete rolled over and swung his legs over the side of the bunk, eventually hopping down and rubbing his tired eyes. Patrick had gone into the main room, so Pete followed. Pete followed him everywhere.

"Pete, I'm sorry," Patrick said quietly, not looking at him.

"'Trick, don't worry about it. You didn't do anything wrong. It was my fault," Pete assured his best friend, stepping forward to stand in front of him.

Patrick shook his head. "No, I just mean for everything. I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have let you..." Pete deflated in what he hoped was not a visible way, but then Patrick looked up and his pupils were huge. And of course they were big, it was dark, but they were  _huge_  huge. Pete started thinking about something he read somewhere about how pupils dilate when you look at—

But then his train crashed as Patrick suddenly shoved him against the wall, holding Pete by his shoulders. "Wait, what are you—"

He gasped with a shaky breath as Patrick stuck a wet kiss right on his sensitive spot. It was different from Patrick's, a little higher and to the left but still the same side, and Pete wondered how he knew where it was but then he didn't care because Patrick Stump was kissing him.

Pete's hand managed to tangle itself in Patrick's hair as he squeezed his eyes shut and held himself up on the wall with his other arm. Patrick was timidly sucking on Pete's collarbone now, and that was surely going to leave a mark and Pete was so ecstatic that he forgot how to breathe for a second. Patrick's name accidentally slipped out of Pete's mouth, and he hoped it wasn't too obviously a moan, but he felt Patrick smile against his skin so he didn't care all that much.

Then Patrick pulled away, and Pete didn't mean to make a noise of protest but he so obviously did and the embarrassment was almost too much to handle. But Patrick was standing in front of him with a nervous smile and rosy cheeks and even bigger pupils.

"Whatever you think you did," Pete began, shutting his eyes again and leaning his head back against the wall, "that definitely made up for it a million times."

"Good." Then Patrick hugged him, and Pete smiled because he was leaning in such a way that Patrick had to place his legs on either side of Pete's, and that gave them just enough friction that Pete knew he would be riding the high into tomorrow's show.

At said show, Pete stayed by Patrick much longer than usual, making sure that he could feel Pete through his jeans as he pressed their bodies together, and he could tell that Patrick knew he was doing it on purpose but the guy was  _smiling_.

Pete was way too in love.

⋰⋰⋰

In the beginning, it felt like this tour was never going to end. Now that it was the last show, Pete didn't want it to.

He and Patrick had worked out a good routine. Every night that there was a show, Andy and Joe and the crew would be so exhausted that they went to bed pretty early, and then Pete and Patrick would sneak off into the main room and make out for however long they needed. The rules were simple: "No using your dick against me, Pete, because that's just unfair," "Well, then you have to let me take the lead," "Fine. But no lips." Their banter had been the result of a three A.M. make out session where Pete had tried (and failed) once again to get in Patrick's pants. That didn't stop Pete from trying other things. Patrick had to hiss 'Too fucking close' once when Pete kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

It was the last show, and Pete didn't have to play bass in this one part of one song that he couldn't be bothered to think about right now, so he went up next to Patrick and whispered the words against his neck and wrapped his arms around him. The only thing standing between Pete's crotch and the singer was that fucking bass guitar and he just  _wanted_  so badly.

That night, of course, had to be different. It was the final night of their tour, and their show was done and people in the audience they had seen in the front at every single venue were crying and hugging their friends, and Pete had picked up the mic and said, "On this tour, I learned something very important. It's way to easy to fall in love with you guys." The audience erupted into cheers, but Pete saw the look Patrick gave him at 'fall in love.' He was scared. Patrick was scared that he was going to out their weird, fucked up relationship to everyone, but most importantly, the word 'love' was what had gotten his attention. "So thank you all for coming, and we love you guys, and we'll see you on the next tour!" Then they launched into Saturday.

They were all up with the sunrise at a party that night. Pete was used to it, but he saw that Patrick was absolutely exhausted. Andy and Joe were still partying, so Pete volunteered to take Patrick back to the bus. They were heading back to Chicago the next day, and Pete couldn't wait to have some time to write on his own or maybe with Patrick for the next few weeks, months, years, whatever.

Pete practically dragged Patrick onto the bus, but as soon as they were out of sight, his friend was wide awake. "Pete."

Pete just rolled his eyes. "You made me miss that party for nothing?"

"Pete." His eyes gleamed in the light of the moon. "It wasn't for nothing."

Getting the idea, Pete gently pushed him against the wall and by now it just felt like going through the motions. It still felt good, obviously, but not as good as it could be.

As Pete was in the middle of their nightly tradition, starting with giving Patrick a hickey and seeing where it went from there, he felt Patrick's hand push at his chest a little bit. Pete pulled back so they were face to face. "What? Did I do something wrong?"

Patrick just stared at him for a little bit, inner turmoil working itself inside of his brain. His eyes kept flicking down to Pete's lips, and his hand was shaking a little bit against Pete's chest. "No," he said quietly. "Nothing wrong." And then Pete couldn't believe his eyes when Patrick started leaning in, tilting his head.

The alarms started blaring in Pete's brain. Oh my God. This was happening. He never thought in a million years that he would ever be kissing Patrick Stump, but here they were, and then lips were on his and everything went quiet. It took Pete a second to remember that this was not a dream and he actually had to do something.

Pete was so hungry. He had wanted this for so, so long, and now it was happening, and he had imagined that he'd be attacking Patrick's mouth and probably end up fucking him, but this kiss was sweet. He couldn't believe that he had known Patrick all these years and never got around to kissing him. His lips tasted like honey and he was so submissive that when Pete shoved his tongue inside of Patrick's mouth, he made a pleasant noise at the back of his throat that Pete just swallowed up.

They stayed like that for a while, hands in each other's hair, making out against a wall like horny teenagers, but eventually Patrick pushed Pete away a little bit. Their lips parted with a wet pop and Pete watched Patrick's eyes flutter open. He was smiling softly, but Pete was pretty sure that he was just grinning like an idiot.

"You wouldn't believe how long I've wanted that." Patrick wouldn't believe how long Future Pete wanted it, either (thirteen fucking years, how did Pete last thirteen years without this, without dying because he didn't have this?), but it didn't really matter anymore. Pete had changed the future. He was going to be happy.

Probably.

"Me too," Patrick said.

Pete raised an eyebrow. "Then why bother with the rules?"

"I was scared of how much I'd like it."

A few seconds of silence. "How do you feel now?"

"Absolutely terrified." And then Pete found himself lying on the couch, making out once again with Patrick, who was sitting on top of him and wow Pete wanted to fuck him so badly.

Pete didn't know if this was a good idea, but he was going to try anyway. "I'm in love with you," he said when Patrick pulled away for air. Patrick just stared down at him blankly for a few seconds before laughing lowly. "What?" Pete snapped.

"I just never imagined that the first person to tell me that would be you."

"Well, is that good or bad?"

Patrick thought for a moment. "Pretty fucking good. I was hoping it would be you, somewhere in the back of my mind." He bent down and kissed Pete again. "Because I've been in love with you much longer than I'd like to think."

Pete smiled against Patrick's lips as they kissed once again, and he didn't care so much about sex anymore.

 **2018 (Take Two)**  
It was a fucking amazing future.

Somewhere down the line, wedding rings had appeared on both Pete and Patrick's fingers, but they strategically timed it so that the fans wouldn't be suspicious. They already kind of were, since neither Pete nor Patrick had ever talked about girlfriends or were ever even seen with a female in public. At least some people used the different timing as debunking material, so they did something right for once.

Future Pete had come back to check in on them periodically, but he was wearing the same clothes every time so Present Pete figured it was the just the same day that he was spending making sure this happened. Future Pete had started showing up less and less until he stopped coming at all, and then Pete realized that it was because he was now technically Future Pete. And he was happy.

So this year was the release of their ninth studio album, Folds In The Sunset, and their tour was super fucking amazing. This one's theme was orange, since they had begun using specific colors for each album (it had started with the yellow American Beauty/American Psycho way back in 2013, then purple Mania in 2015, and more recently Avalanche in 2017 that was gray and white). According to Future Pete during the final time he had ever come last year, they were way ahead of schedule because some sort of hiatus had happened between Folie and Save Rock And Roll, but Pete just couldn't imagine ever breaking up, even temporarily.

Pete had never really figured out how his other self had fucking traveled back in time. He couldn't do that, and this was around the time when he should be able to. Maybe it was something that stemmed from never being with Patrick. Who knows? It didn't matter.

They were running through their new song called Soul Punk during a rehearsal one day when Patrick had to stop and get his pick from off the ground. "Damn gloves, I can't fucking—I'm just gonna' take these off. This is the worst day ever." Pete laughed and put his arm around his husband lazily, pecking him lightly on the cheek.

"Don't worry baby, it could be worse."

Indeed, Pete had seen that it could be much worse. But it was better now. And that was all that mattered.

⋰⋰⋰

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I think I wrote this in, like, three days, so it might not be as good as I think it is. But nonetheless, I loved writing it.
> 
> Sorry if you would have preferred this long-ass fic in chapters.
> 
> <3


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